


Assignation

by Jay_eagle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anonymity, Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Final draft of a fic originally posted as a response to a prompt on the Sherlock Holmes Kink Meme. (Original prompt can be found <a href="http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9194.html?thread=22119658#t22119658">here</a>.)</p><p><b>Summary</b>: A fully-dressed Mycroft sitting in his office while on the receiving end of a really spectacular blow job. (Hopefully!) non-specific enough that readers can put themselves in OMC's shoes.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Assignation

It never seemed like ‘just any’ government job. People will tell you that they had no idea what they were getting into, joining this department – or they would if they could ignore the Official Secrets – but they’re not telling the truth. The location of the interview, for starters – I mean, who interviews in a bunker? With mirrors, and shadows, and clinical tables rather than desks? No, I always knew I was walking into something I would never be able to talk about, never be able to reveal to anyone – not even my nearest and dearest.

I had been headhunted, if you can call it that; one ordinary day, I was beavering away as usual, at the Ordinance Survey office where I had worked since graduating from Oxford, when I suddenly became aware of the figure standing silently behind me. He was an unassuming sort of fellow, at first glance; red hair, neatly cropped; tall and slim, although something about his face suggested he hadn’t always been so slight. He was watching me, silently, through grey eyes that sent a light shiver down my spine. The man looked perfectly ordinary (a neat, umbrella-toting businessman – maybe a banker, or lawyer) until you met those eyes and gauged the quiet power radiating from them. 

Just as quickly as I’d formed an impression of the power he might wield, it was as if a veil had been drawn and he assumed a friendly smile, handing me a sealed envelope, discreetly franked with the crown.

“Open it later,” he instructed, with a smile that I couldn’t quite be sure was sincere. “Away from work.”

He turned away, leaving me staring curiously after him. The end of my mundane day at work couldn’t come fast enough, and I tore open the letter on the train home, devouring the contents.

After that, things moved rapidly; two interviews, an assessment afternoon with other nervous candidates, then a transfer to a nondescript premises on an estate near the heart of London. My new tasks were fairly simple, but I daren’t write them down – even here. I suspect that my life will never be truly my own again. But given the events of last night, I can never again think that it’s not worth it. I’d give up anything for... well, I don’t even really know his name. But the devotion he has inspired in me is complete, and would be alarming if it didn’t feel so right.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Permit me to explain what took place.

I was in the open plan section of the office, working late. I wasn’t the only one – the work is vital and time-sensitive. If it’s not finished by five, there’s no option but to stay and keep at it. Since I was the newest and least experienced, the work often took me the longest, and this was the fourth night in a row I’d stayed past 10pm. I put down the papers I was working on and rubbed the bridge of my nose, tiredly. The words were starting to blur into meaningless black dots and blobs.

“Coffee,” I said to myself, and wandered over to the kitchen. I had just put the tab into the machine and set it to whirr, when I felt again the unsettling sensation that someone had approached silently behind me. I twisted round, hastily, and was once again met by those grey eyes. I hadn’t seen him since that day in my old office – but I would never have forgotten him even if it hadn’t been for the business with the letter. He exuded such a sense of control – mystery – that he had made quite the impression, despite the brevity of our encounter. I was in no way certain that I had made a similar impact on him, though. His eyes flicked up and down as he assessed me quickly.

“Ah, yes,” he said, quietly. His tones were polished, refined. Eton, maybe, or Harrow? Certainly public school. “We met, did we not?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to let my exhaustion show in my voice. “I worked at the OS – you found me there, a few months ago.”

“I remember,” he smiled; but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t seem unfriendly, though – just reserved, determined to maintain a distance from me. This didn’t strike me as surprising – after all, he was my senior, probably by several rungs.

“Can I get you a coffee, sir?”

“Call me... Smith.” The hesitation told me instantly that nobody would know a ‘Smith’ if I ever asked who it was. A year ago, I would have been stunned at the adoption of a code name; incredulous and wondering if it was all part of an office prank. Now I accepted it without demur.

“I believe you are to know me as ‘Bailey’.” 

He nodded. “Coffee would be appreciated, Bailey. Would you be so good as to bring it to my office when it is ready? There is a phone call I really should be attending to.”

“Of course, sir – Mr Smith. But – which is your office, please? I’m afraid I’m still not entirely familiar with the department’s layout.”

“Up the stairs – end of the corridor ahead of you. The walnut-panelled door on the right.” He smiled swiftly again, this time more genuinely. To my surprise, the unexpected warmth sent a pulse straight to my groin. It was fortunate that he had already turned on his heel and left as I leaned back against the worktop, taken aback at my body’s reaction. The path he was walking led straight from the kitchen door in front of me, and I allowed my tempted eyes to watch his pert arse as he moved away, saliva suddenly flooding my mouth. Thank goodness he can’t see me, I thought – then realised with a thrill of horror that the glass doors in front of him were showing our reflections quite plainly to him. God – had he noticed me lick my lips? 

An embarrassed flush heated my cheeks as I prepared the coffee. Working late was obviously taking its toll on my brain. He was my superior. No good was ever going to come of lusting after him like a teenager. Thinking of the potential for humiliation if he ever found out was enough to chase away my burgeoning erection and I grabbed his coffee and tried to walk steadily upstairs.

I found the office described (despite worrying whether I would actually be able to tell the difference between a walnut- or an oak-panelled door – where do people learn these things, honestly?) Quivering slightly, I knocked, cursing the fact that he’d obviously clocked me looking him over. I hoped he would forget it, put it down to the stupor that comes with multiple late nights.

“Come in,” a soft voice called from behind the door. I turned the handle and entered, not managing to avoid gaping at the luxurious interior. The carpet was thick beneath my feet; a long, marble table with ornate chairs stretched away towards a bay window, and in the other half of the room sat an enormous oak desk. The only light in the dim room came from the single desk lamp; by its light I perceived Mr Smith, looking over some papers. I stole over as quietly as I could manage.

“There’s no need to creep, Bailey.” The voice was amused.

“Sorry, sir. I wasn’t sure whether you were on the phone.” I reached the desk and stretched forward to place the coffee in front of him. At the same moment – or was it just the slightest fraction later? – he also reached out. His hand brushed lightly over my wrist, causing an involuntary shudder to run through me. God, what was it about him that attracted me so?

I nervously met his eyes as between us we guided the hot coffee down onto the desk’s surface. He merely looked intrigued, to my relief – probably thinking about his papers. I had worried that he’d noticed my reaction to his touch.

“Thank you for the coffee. My call has been cancelled. Apparently the Lebanese premier has better things to do than to talk to someone as insignificant as me this evening.”

Even I could detect the insincerity in his words. Looking about me surreptitiously at the plush surroundings, I wondered – just how high up was this man? Much higher than I’d previously given him credit for, that’s for sure.

“If that’ll be all, Mr Smith?”

“Thank you.” I turned to leave, but hesitated as he cleared his throat. “Unless you’ve a spare half an hour? It’s been a long day and I’d appreciate some company before my next call. My secretary has had the nerve to go home to her children.” He laughed lightly.

I didn’t have half an hour. My work wasn’t anywhere near complete.

“Of course.” I turned back, awkwardly. Nothing in my training had taught me the protocol for this situation. He stood up.

“Superb. Let us relocate to somewhere more comfortable.” He picked up his coffee and beckoned me to follow him.

He disappeared behind an Oriental screen I had barely noticed. It says something about the elaborateness of the room that the screen, with its pattern of birds and flowers, was the least attention-grabbing item within. I still couldn’t find anything to criticise, though – despite the ornate  decoration, the overall impression was one of taste and refinement. And opulence, of course. I wondered how the great British taxpayer would feel if they could catch a glimpse of this office. 

Behind the screen ( next to an uplighter, which he flicked on) sat a modern-looking sofa – presumably the screen was to hide this modern addition, though it did cross my mind to wonder why Mr Smith hadn’t simply bought an antique in the first place. He replied to my unanswered query.

“Modern furniture is just so much more comfortable, don’t you think?”

I had meant to answer ‘yes’ but instead blurted out: “How did you know what I was thinking?”

He smiled, slowly as he gestured for me to sit beside him. “I have... rather a talent, shall we say, for deducing what people are pondering. What thoughts are crossing their minds. I think it’s why several prime ministers have found me... useful... in their employ.”

I barely heard his last sentence – I was again lost in embarrassment. A man with this level of perceptiveness would never have missed the unfortunate signals I had given off tonight. I felt a hideous blush flood my cheeks once more.

“Bailey?”

“I must apologise – for my earlier indiscretion,” I stuttered. “It was deeply unprofessional of me.”

“A pity,” he sighed, inspecting the backs of his fingernails.

“Sir?”

“Smith. A pity, I say again. I rather enjoyed it.”

I gaped. He met my eyes – the power within was so intoxicating. I could get lost in those eyes. What was he insinuating? 

All thoughts instantly fled my mind as I felt his hand drift on to my knee, having placed his coffee out of the way on the table next to him. The warm pressure of his fingers was firm, probing – waiting for my reaction. I should have jumped – should have pulled away – remained professional. But the commanding attitude exuding from him overcame me. I stared into his face, mouth open from the gasp I had taken. His other hand reached up and he ran his thumb over my lips. Hardly able to believe what was happening, I cautiously reached out and ran my fingers through the soft, red hair just above his ear, wondering if I really was allowed to touch him. He closed his eyes and hummed with pleasure.

“Take charge, my dear Bailey,” he said, softly. “It really is – exhausting – to have to exert such an iron grip all the time.”

I had never been so turned on. A man with such power – was prepared to offer it, even temporarily, to me? I still wasn’t sure what was happening. Carefully, I leaned in towards him.

“Kiss me,” I said, huskily.

Without a murmur, he closed his mouth on mine. Our kiss was chaste for a surprising length of time, each of us focusing on the sensations of exploring hands and warm lips. After a moment, I flickered my tongue forwards, seeking his. I was delighted when he responded, revelling in the exploration. I pushed back at him lightly, testing my influence. He reacted instantly, leaning backwards into his corner of the sofa. Apparently, I really was in charge – for the next few minutes, at least. The thought sent a surge through me, and my trousers were suddenly much too tight. I whimpered with longing as I saw him focus his gaze on my hardness. His fingers twitched as if longing to touch it.

“Smith,” I said, trying to inject a degree of calm forcefulness into my tone. I slid towards him, slipping my hands up his thighs. “You will undress me now – slowly. I want you to enjoy this.”

“Yes, sir.” He leant forward, dropping a kiss on my cheek as he reached to pull off my jacket. I thought about telling him off for the unprompted kiss, but decided I didn’t want this to be free of spontaneity on his part. I caressed his shoulders as he unbuttoned my shirt, planting kisses down my torso with each button undone. He shivered under my touch, moaning as he reached the bottom button and his last kiss settled on the trail of hair leading down into my trousers.

He knelt before me, ostensibly to unlace my shoes and remove my socks, but simultaneously leaning forward to rub his cheek back and fore over my still clothed erection. It was my turn to succumb to almost wordless groans as electric tingles sparked through me at his touch.

“Ah, God – mmm – Smith... Smith...”

The focus in his face was quite marvellous to witness; I would have felt utterly insignificant in the face of such intense concentration, if it weren’t for the fact that the concentration was so entirely on me. The rest of the world had fallen away as he lifted his hand to my waist, lightly brushing his fingers over my straining cock as he undid my belt. I couldn’t resist kissing him again, tracing my fingers over his jaw, no stubble under my fingertips despite it being the end of a long day. I was glad – nothing was detracting from his neatness, his trim appearance.

He urged me to lift my hips momentarily so he could slide my pants and trousers away at the same time. I helped him, kicking them off, eager to kiss him again. His tongue danced in my mouth and I shivered, imagining how it would feel on my achingly hard prick. Holding his face between my hands, I dropped kisses on his cheeks, jaw, sucking lightly on his earlobe just to make him lean into me with a delicious shiver. It had been a while since I had given him any instructions.

“You did that very well,” I praised. I paused momentarily, then decided to see how he would respond. “Good boy – good boy.” I judged him correctly. He whined appreciatively and thrust his crotch into my leg, letting me feel how hard he was under his smart suit trousers. I petted his hair before drawing him back on to the sofa next to me. 

The situation was incredibly erotic – I, completely naked and totally in control, whilst Smith remained fully clothed, straining against me, utterly abandoned to my every whim. He couldn't take his eyes off me, his gaze flitting shyly up to meet my eyes before being drawn down again into my lap. He wouldn’t touch without my permission, though. I let him dangle for a few seconds, taking the time to reach forward and run the tip of one finger slowly down the front of his shirt, tracing between the buttons, until I reached his belt. Without meaning to, he jerked his hips up – only an infinitesimal twitch, but it showed me how close he was to losing control. I removed my finger, causing him to moan, longing unsuppressed in his voice.

“Bailey... please...”

“You undressed me so nicely, don’t spoil it now. I have a special task for you.” He fixed his eyes on mine, lust burning through his stare. I gestured towards my cock, which by now was red and leaking a steady stream of pre-come on to my stomach. “Suck,” I instructed, breathily.

He panted with want as he leaned forward, slower than I would have liked. I placed one hand on his shoulder and drew him down, firmly rather than with force. He complied, and I struggled to keep myself from thrusting up as I felt his mouth close lightly round the head of my member. His tongue flicked out, probing at the slit, tasting me. I shivered.

“Take more... go on... Christ, your mouth is talented-“ I broke off, trying to concentrate on not hair-triggering. He had slid his lips down my shaft and was sucking his way back up, still using his tongue to trace little patterns around my foreskin. Without prompting, he brought his hand round to stroke at my balls and I spread my legs wide to allow him better access. My breath was coming in shallow gasps and I had lost the battle not to thrust at him, making shallow jerks as he sucked enthusiastically. 

It was all becoming too much, and I didn’t want to climax yet – I wanted to make him come, see him fall apart for me, while I was still aroused.

“Stop,” I growled. I pulled him up, into a tight embrace, feeling him quake with lust against my chest. I kissed him passionately and deeply, abandoning any pretence of restraint, feeling his expensive jacket crumple beneath my firm caresses of his back and thigh. I shifted position, urging him to relax backwards, so he ended up at 45 degrees, balancing against the arm of the settee. He gasped as I palmed his erection through the thick material of his trousers, to my delight.

I slid his fly open, agonisingly slowly. His hands flew to undo his belt, until I corrected him sharply.

“No. You are to remain dressed. I can give you all the pleasure you need without removing that designer outfit of yours.” I growled, feeling his cock twitch at my words. “After all, you look so very... sexy... dressed like that.” I drew his shaft out, watching it as it left a trail of pre-come behind – I had already felt the large wet patch inside his pants. I ran my thumb lightly over the head and Smith cried out.

“How does it feel? Tell me how it feels,” I ordered, bending forward to lick the ridge between the head and the shaft, teasing with my tongue. I took him by surprise as he had closed his eyes – he moaned and thumped at the arm of the sofa with his left fist. His right hand grasped my hair hard and I wondered if he was about to attempt to force the pace; however, he seemed satisfied just to feel me under his hand while I drew more of his prick into my hot, wet mouth.

“It feels... so good... Bailey – ah, ah – God, oh God... Your tongue is so light... making me shake... mmm...” He dissolved briefly into incoherence as I sucked particularly intensely at him, using one hand to stroke his shaft at the same time. He took a deep breath and continued: “Look at you... so beautiful...” I raised my eyes to meet his, trying to see if he was serious. I could detect no falsity in his lustful stare, and smiled quickly around his cock, humming with pleasure. This provoked a fresh groan from the very bottom of his lungs. He looked so utterly wanton, still in his suit and shirt, flushed with pleasure and covered with a light sheen of sweat, hectic spots of red on his pale cheeks. Without a second thought, I used my spare hand to fist at my own erection, trying to match the pace I was setting on his member with my lips and tongue, feeling the damp remnants of his licking and sucking under my hand. I trembled.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he moaned again. “I’ve never wanted – oh, oh, oh – anyone so much, so hard, so ha-ard..” I tightened my grip on both our cocks and increased the pace. His prick felt so good under my mouth, tender yet iron hard under its satiny skin; the taste of his pre-come salt on my tongue but so exciting, so much a sign of the ecstasy I was inducing in him. I sped up even further, unable to resist.

“I’m – I’m going to come, going to come,” he warned, breathlessly. I had gathered as much – feeling his balls draw up, the tension in both of us nearly at breaking point. I captured his stare again and nodded – giving him permission. It seemed to be the thing that tipped him over the edge, as he cried out and climaxed, flooding my mouth with copious amounts of come. The intensity of the sensation drew me back from the edge momentarily and I swallowed as much as I could as the last judders wracked him. Some escaped and dribbled down my chin as I raised my head from his lap; I was about to wipe it away when he shook his head and drew my face to his, licking it away delicately with just the tip of his tongue. This tender act brought me back to the very edge of my own orgasm again and I gasped, shaking all over.

Quick as lightning, he twisted down, once again enclosing the head of my cock with his lips. The image – the feeling – was all too much. I came with a shout, shooting spurt after spurt into his willing mouth as he stroked my legs, covering my hand on my cock with his, urging the last drops out of me. It fit with his neat image that he didn’t lose a single drop.

He released me as the pressure became too much for my over-sensitive prick, instead gently laying his head against my chest. For a few, blissful minutes we rested, allowing our fevered breathing to return to normal. Suddenly, something occurred to me.

“When you came –“ I blushed again, but he met my gaze coolly. “You shouted – you shouted my name.”

“Yes?”

“My real name.”

“I apologise for the lapse in protocol.”

“No – you really do remember me, I mean?” I was incredulous.

“We don’t often recruit someone as appealing as you...” He even looked embarrassed , just for the slightest second, before he resumed his usual reserved gaze.

“I’m flattered.”

“Mmm.” He stretched, lazily. “Drat. It must be time for my call.”

I got the message and hastily dressed as he watched from his semi-prone position. Once I had laced my second shoe, he stood up, zipping his fly. Somehow, he had straightened his clothing so he looked just as neat as he had in the kitchen, half an hour before. 

He walked me to the door, a hand warm on my arm.

“Please don’t think that what just happened was a normal occurrence for me,” he said, quietly as we crossed the room.

“No – I mean – I don’t know –“ I stuttered. How come protocol training didn’t include tuition in post-coital chat with a man who vastly outranked you? I’d have to add that to the feedback form.

“Take my card,” he offered. “In case – you should ever fancy a repeat... encounter – just contact me.”

“Likewise.” I took the proffered piece of paper, looking at it curiously. “Now I know you’re using a codename.” I grinned. “Who on earth would be called Mycroft?”

He simply smiled inscrutably, and ushered me out, leaving me alone in the corridor, warm with the deeply sated throb of an incredible experience.

  
  



End file.
